Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.
Now replace with chicken. And good luck.
Not to boast, but I’m pretty up on Golden Arches lore. I remember the McDLT that came in a double-wide styrofoam container so the lettuce and tomatoes wouldn’t get soggy from the meat. I remember the McSoup. The awful McRib. I could sing most commercials (en français). I remember when you could order two eggs any style with bacon and toast and it would come in a styrofoam “plate” whose cover proudly featured a smiling sunrise. I know why the shortening used to cook fries is called Formula 47.
But what do you know, it can still surprise me.
For instance, by coming up with a chicken Big Mac. It’s exactly like a regular Big Mac except that instead of two all-beef patties you have two fried chicken portions.
Yes, with the Big Mac sauce. And the cheese and pickles and lettuce and onion and the sesame seed bun.
Fucking heresy. Of course I had to try it.
The image on the side of the building, like every food ad everywhere, looks nothing like what you get when you order this 610-calorie monster. I thought it was fitting that the trash can was right nearby. It’s probably as awful as I think it should be, I said to myself.
Now, I no longer eat McD very often. It doesn’t agree with me all that much. First of all because I’m the kind of really annoying person who eats mostly vegetables and not very many at that. But also, I have a sensitivity to soy (in a bad way, I mean) and that shit’s in just about every prepared food ever invented, in one form or another. But I owed it to myself, and to my faithful reader, to try it anyway so you wouldn’t have to. You can thank me by becoming a paid subscriber. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s worth that.
I prepared myself. Girded the loins. First by doing a really hard kickboxing class, to get the fighting spirit in and the nerves out. Then I lined my stomach by consuming a (smallish) bag of chips for lunch. I figured a solid coat of greasy salty carbs would prime the enzymes for the onslaught.
I also took my own personal 14-year-old as moral support. I had to buy them a Flurry but whatever, it was totally worth it to avoid suffering alone with … the thing that came in the box I purchased.
So much beige, with a pop of electric yellow. That’s American cheese.
It would be.
Now you’re curious. But Brigitte, you say, what does it taste like?
The short answer is: A mess.
Look. I can be the most annoying snob ever. In fact, I usually am that most days. But notwithstanding what I said above, there is something profoundly satisfying in a Big Mac. It’s the sauce, I think. I remember the four times I was pregnant I craved Big Macs. Unreasonably. It wasn’t any particular ingredient. It was the magic of the combination.
When you replace beef with fried chicken you fuck it all up. And it tastes like nothing in particular. The chicken calls for mayo but instead you have an incongruous relishy glop. The pickles are like your wife sitting between you and your paramour at the movie theatre. Kind of unwelcome.
Oh, and here’s a free life lesson for you: Fried chicken does not go with cheese.
The lettuce, on the other hand, is not really a problem since it falls to the bottom of the box and doesn’t threaten your tastebuds. Not that this stuff has any of it. Taste, I mean.
Here’s another discovery: A big difference between fried chicken and beef is that other ingredients don’t stick to chicken the way they stick to beef. Not even the bread. I hadn’t taken four bites that the whole sandwich was falling apart.
As I write these lines, several hours post-prandial and despite a vigorous walk with my temporary evening dog, it’s still sitting in my tummy like congealed previously-fried corn byproducts.
In conclusion, after chomping my way through 610 empty calories, I needed a nap. So if that’s what you’re looking for in a novelty burger, it’s $6.99 well spent.